


The good wife

by bloodandcream



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bottom Dean, Facials, Feminization, M/M, Masturbation, Mommy Kink, POV Sam, Pining, Underage Sam, Unrequieted Wincest, Voyeurism, layers of incest kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 19:34:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11424708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodandcream/pseuds/bloodandcream
Summary: Cas snaps his hips forward, holds on to Dean’s waist and fucks into him.Trying to keep his breathing steady, and quiet, Sam squeezes his dick and he doesn’t really need to do much else, watching them. When Dean shifts, finds Sam’s eyes in the corner of the mirror and looks at him through the reflection, Sam freezes.





	The good wife

When Sam comes home from school to see Cas’ red Schwinn bike leaned against the attached garage of their small, brick ranch house, he lets himself in through the back door quietly. Setting his heavy backpack on the table scattered with bills and a sad bowl of spotted bananas, Sam can’t really be mad that only one other kid showed up for chess club after school. It meant leaving early, and coming home to this.

He can hear them down the hall, and he slinks closer almost pressed to the wall, avoiding the creaky floorboards in the middle. Only, their voices aren’t coming from the front bedroom that Sam and Dean share. They’re coming from the end of the hall, past the bathroom. From Mom’s bedroom.

Sam passes their messy, empty bedroom with the bunkbeds. He usually finds them on the bottom one, Dean’s bed, and he can just see a sliver of what they do through the door when it’s left cracked open.

It’s probably gross, but afterward, when Dean’ll be making dinner, Sam usually hides in their room under pretenses of studying and curls up on Dean’s bed, face buried in dirtied sheets still a little tacky-wet, and the smell of it is intoxicating.

But today… today they’re in Mom’s room.

Sam presses himself to the wall and nudges the door open just a little more because they’re across the room by the dresser that sits next to the window. The sunlight is bright through lacey curtains. Mom never makes her bed, leaves pale yellow sheets rumpled at the foot of it. There isn’t much jewelry or makeup stuff scattered on the dresser. A dog eared harlequin romance sits on the nightstand with her reading glasses.

Dean is sifting through the dirty clothes hamper in the corner, while Cas is looking at the framed photos on the wall. Studio-prim photos of before, with Dad in them, when Sam was a fat baby and Dean was a buck-toothed kid with a bad bowl cut. There are more recent ones, too, casual ones of just mom and them.

“Your mother is very beautiful.” Cas says.

Dean straightens up, crumpled mustard-yellow diner dress in his hands. “Yeah, she is.”

Sam frowns, watches as Dean pulls his shirt off and unbuttons his jeans, kicking them away and shimmying out of his underwear. Cas looks at him, and goes back to studying the photos. Dean brings the dress to his face, inhales deeply, before shaking it out and pulling it on over his head.

Sam knows exactly what Dean’s smelling. Greasy diner food and cigarettes and baby powder.

When their mom comes home from her late shift, she always comes into their room and kisses them while they’re asleep. Pulls the covers up. Sam half-wakes sometimes, drowsily content for the affection, the smell of her dress and her hair after a long shift something comforting in its familiarity.

She’s always asleep when he wakes up, and even though Sam’s old enough to get his own stuff together, Dean will pack a school lunch for him. It kind of sucks that they really only get to see their mom on her erratic days off. Sam’s old enough to understand that it’s hard for her too.

Cas crosses the bedroom and finishes the zipper up the back of the dress when it gets stuck.

“Thanks.” Dean tells him.

The dress puffs out empty at the front where Dean doesn’t have anything to fill it, pulls tightly across his broad shoulders and well muscled arms.

Circling his arms around Dean’s waist, Cas kisses the back of his neck gently.

Sam likes Cas, he sticks around for dinner sometimes. Asks Sam about school. Cleans the dishes before leaving. Sam didn’t see much of Cas last year, when he was a senior with Dean and Sam was a freshman, but Cas had a reputation for getting into fights and Sam can understand why Dean likes him so much.

Plus, there’s this.

Cas’ hands sliding up Dean’s chest, fingers circling over his nipples, Dean’s breath hitching as he sways and leans against the dresser. Moves a few things carefully to the side.

Sam can see Dean’s face in the mirror. It’s a better view than what he gets from their bedroom, but it makes him nervous of Dean being able to see him back. He stays, though, palms his erection through his jeans as he watches one of Cas’ hands dragging lower, rucking up the hem of Dean’s - Mom’s - work dress.

“You’re so beautiful, Dean.” Cas mumbles into the skin of his neck, soft sound of wet lingering kisses barely a whisper, but Sam can hear it if he holds his breath and strains.

“Call me mom.” Dean speaks low and soft, eyes squeezed shut as he grinds his hips back against Cas.

Stepping back, Cas puts a hand between Dean’s shoulder blades and bends him forward over the dresser. Flips the yellow dress over his bare ass, batting the white strings of the sewn-on apron aside.

“Do you want me to fuck you right here, mom, or on the bed?”

Sam covers his mouth with a hand, bites the heel of his palm, pops the button on his jeans to squirm a hand inside. His heart beats so fast he’s almost scared that they’ll hear it.

Bracing his forearms on the dresser, Dean widens his stance and arches his ass up.

“Just like this.”

Stroking a hand slowly up Dean’s back, over the dress, Cas nods. Pulls a condom out of his jeans pocket and takes his hands off Dean for only long enough to get his dick out and put it on.

“You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you mom? Open up so pretty.”

Dean nods, breathing heavy.

Humming, Castiel presses against him and rocks, leans across Dean’s back to reach something on the dresser. A red tube of lipstick.

“Put this on,” he tells Dean.

Blinking, Dean takes it. “Oh, fuck Cas.”

Shaky and messy, he smears the lipstick on while Cas fidgets with something else out of his pocket, presses closer, and Sam knows when Cas is inside his brother because there’s a familiar, shuddering breath from Dean. Red smeared lips in a wide open gasp, Dean drops the tube of lipstick and grips the edge of the dresser.

Cas snaps his hips forward, holds on to Dean’s waist and fucks into him.

Trying to keep his breathing steady, and quiet, Sam squeezes his dick and he doesn’t really need to do much else, watching them. When Dean shifts, finds Sam’s eyes in the corner of the mirror and looks at him through the reflection, Sam freezes.

He could stumble away from the door, apologize like he just accidentally found them. Or back up quietly, so that Cas won’t know, let Dean tear into him later. But Sam doesn’t do either of those, he freezes like a deer in the headlights and he’s not so sure he doesn’t deserve being run over.

But Dean. Dean. Dean holds his gaze in the mirror, pulls his bottom lip between his teeth staining them red, and then he moans all high and breathy and shoves back to meet Cas’ hips.

Sam could cry. It’s too much and it doesn’t all fit inside him. Everything he feels for his brother, the overwhelming crush of shame and guilt and want and affection. Seeing his brother get fucked in their mother’s work uniform shouldn’t feel like this. Warm and pulsing, a tight squeeze around his ribs.

Cas curls over Dean, reaches under the dress and his arm moves jerkily. Blinking out of the trance and breaking his gaze with Sam, Dean presses his chest to the dresser and lets out a low whine.

When Cas pulls out, pulls Dean away from the dresser and pushes him to his knees, the front of the dark wood is spattered with his come. Cas strips off the condom, grips Dean hair, shoves his dick between red painted lips and Dean groans. Bracing his hands on Cas’ hips, Dean takes him in until there’s no more to take.

Fucking his face, Cas murmurs, “You’re such a good wife.”

Sam comes in his boxers, dick twitching and hot under his hand.

Dean is sloppy, spit dripping down his chin. The eager noises he makes will haunt Sam’s wet dreams for years. Cas pulls out, head of his dick smearing red lipstick as he jacks off and comes all over Dean’s uptilted, open mouthed face.

Sam leaves them like that, Cas stooping over to kiss his own come off blushing cheeks.

Tip-toeing backwards, Sam detours to their bedroom and grabs a new pair of jeans. He gets his backpack off the kitchen table, closes the door behind him silently, and changes behind the shed in the backyard, red-faced and still mostly hard.

Dean knows, but Sam isn’t sure that he could deal with it if Cas knew too. So he’s going to pretend to come home again, loud and careless as he calls Dean’s name into the house.

The shower is running, but Dean comes around the corner with wet-spiked hair in a pair of ripped jeans and an old Metallica t-shirt, so it’s got to be Cas who’s dawdling.

Sam’s face is hot and he’s sure he’s red to the tips of his ears but he doesn’t avoid it when Dean looks at him, comes up to him and ruffles his hair. It’s painfully normal.

Dean’s got a soft smile on, and he doesn’t give away a thing. Instead he asks, “How was chess club?”

Sitting at the table, Sam shrugs and peels a banana for a snack. He tells Dean, “It was good,” and he’s vaguely aware that he’s lying to himself more than he’s lying to his brother.


End file.
